My Mistress Ordered My Funeral While I Was Still Alive Chapter 07

My Mistress Ordered My Funeral While I Was Still Alive Chapter 07

The moment the attorney walked in, he placed a 

thick manila folder onto the coffee table. 

Asset division. 

Stock transfers. 

Fault–based compensation. 

Recoupment of marital gifts. 

He laid them out, one by one. 

“Mr. Sterling, the documents are all here. Please 

review them.” 

Harrison Sterling stood entirely still. 

He stared at the files as if he were seeing who I 

truly was for the very first time. 

My classmate from the IRS pulled out a separate set of documents. 

“Mr. Sterling, you have one week to voluntarily 

submit an amended financial disclosure regarding 

your tax discrepancies.” 

“Full compliance now will secure you leniency 

later.” 

Harrison didn’t look at either of them. 

He raised his head and locked his eyes on me. 

I knew that look. He wanted me to say something 

-anything. 

To blame him. To scream at him. 

But I had absolutely nothing left to give him. 

The attorney pushed a pen across the table. 

“Mr. Sterling, let’s start with the divorce 

agreement.” 

A ragged sound scraped out of Harrison’s throat. 

“Evelyn, is this really what you want?” 

I looked at him coldly. 

“Sign the papers, Mr. Sterling.” 

He flinched, visibly stung by the formal title. His 

hand shook as he finally picked up the pen. 

“And after I sign?” 

“After you sign, we talk about your company.” 

He lowered his head and began signing the pages. 

One after the other. He barely read them. 

Only when he reached the final page did the tip of 

his pen hover over the paper for a long, agonizing 

moment. 

I didn’t rush him. Neither did the attorney. 

Eventually, he signed. 

The attorney gathered the documents, gave me a 

firm nod, and left. 

My classmate followed right behind, leaving only a 

brief, “Contact me within the week,” before the 

front door clicked shut. 

Once again, the room belonged only to Harrison 

and me. 

I reached down and picked up the Custom Epitaph 

from the floor. 

There was a faint seam along the back of the 

plaque where the impact of Amber’s throw had 

pried the wood apart. 

Using my fingernail, I pried it open. 

A small, folded slip of paper was wedged inside. 

Five words were written on it: 

[Evelyn, I am so sorry.] 

It was Harrison’s handwriting. I recognized it 

instantly. 

He stood behind me, his breathing so shallow it 

sounded like he was fading away. 

“When did you write this?” I asked. 

“The day after you came home from the hospital,” he murmured, his voice barely audible. 

“I came back late that night, and you were already asleep in the guest bedroom. I wrote it in the 

study.” 

I refolded the paper and slid it right back into the 

hidden slot. 

“So while you were drugging me, you were busy 

celebrating Amber’s birthday.” 

“And while your conscience was eating you alive, 

you wrote this little note.” 

“And in the end, you let her bring a plaque carved with my name right to my front door.” 

A low, muffled sob broke from Harrison’s throat. 

“It wasn’t like that, Evelyn.” 

“Then what was it like?” 

He had no answer. 

I set the plaque down on the coffee table. 

“You will cooperate fully with the tax investigation.” 

“You will assume sole responsibility for all marital debts, including the eight million dollars you 

authorized using my name to bail out your second 

uncle.” 

“As for Amber, I will legally claw back every single luxury asset you purchased for her using our 

marital funds.” 

Harrison looked up, his eyes wide. 

He probably thought I was stepping in to clean up 

his corporate mess. 

I didn’t bother correcting him. 

“As far as the law is concerned, you and I are 

completely finished.” 

I turned on my heel and went into the bedroom to 

pack. 

Truthfully, there wasn’t much to take. 

A few outfits, my legal documents, a lab report, 

and the unwrapped baby onesies. 

I held the small clothes over the suitcase, 

intending to throw them away, but ultimately 

tucked them into the very bottom layer. 

I wasn’t holding onto him. 

I was holding onto the child who never got a 

chance to see the world. 

Harrison hadn’t moved an inch from the living 

room. 

When I rolled my suitcase out, he looked entirely hollowed out, like a ghost haunting his own space. 

As I reached the front door, he finally found his 

voice. 

“Evelyn.” 

“Just tell me one thing.” 

“Speak.” 

“Of the four years we spent together… how much 

of it was real?” 

My hand tightened around the doorknob. 

I had opened this door thousands of times before, 

always believing there was a home waiting on the 

other side. 

Not anymore. 

“Every single year.” 

“Every single day.” 

“Until tonight.” 

The door clicked shut, and I pulled my suitcase 

away from The South End.